


The Blind Bluff of Molly Hooper

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Poker, Sherlolly - Freeform, Slight Spoilers for 2x3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 14:55:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall Sherlock finds himself in the company of Molly Hooper, but now he is confined in a small space, with very little to entertain his mind how will Molly keep him sane? With Poker of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blind Bluff of Molly Hooper

‘A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out.’  
\- Walter Winchell 

xxx

Sherlock Holmes was not a man easily baffled, but as he sat at the kitchen table of expensive hotel room across from a grinning Molly Hooper, Sherlock was more confused an uncomfortable than he had been in his entire life. 

…

A year and eight months had passed since he had taken his swan dive off the roof of St Bartholomew’s Hospital, since Sherlock Holmes had been disgraced and defeated with the rumour being that he killed the revelatory Richard Brooks. The people of England had split into four distinct groups: the people who didn’t give a rats arse, the people that believed his guilt, the quiet believers of his innocence and the extreme believers; who ran around London and plastered their belief of his innocence all over the internet and walls of his former city (and in some cases beyond).

Sherlock had been leading a somewhat unorthodox life ever since. He had spent two weeks in the flat of Dr Molly Hooper, recuperating from the wounds that he had ascertained in his fake suicide. Molly had been thrust into a new light; she had taken care of him and put up with his ever bruising attitude while she did. Those two weeks had been a struggle for Sherlock, one because John was somewhere in the darkness mourning, and two because Molly lived next door to a cocaine addict who would have been so easy to steal from. Fortunately a busted ankle and a very emotive 'nurse Molly' had stopped him. 

When the time came for Sherlock to leave Molly, she made him swear to be careful and ‘not die again without her’ (an attempt at humour that had made Sherlock restrain himself from rolling his eyes). Sherlock in turn had demanded that Mycroft (who had deduced his living status merely three days before hand) put up constant watch on the young pathologist, fearing that Moriarty may have had secondary plans for her demise. It was doubtful, but Sherlock owed her a great deal and did not wish for her to die before such debts were replayed. 

He had flown out on private plane that day, and with the help of some new clothes and various products, the iconic image of Sherlock Holmes was eradicated. His curls were changed from dark to a light ginger/blonde colour and cut shorter, his coat replaced with a leather jacket, suits with baggy jeans and various button up shirts and suspenders, all accompanied by aviator sunglasses to hide his identity even more and a pile of papers describing who he had and would become.

The second he landed in Spain trouble had come rushing at Sherlock from all sides, not in the form of criminals or enemies, but in the shape of the deep dark addiction that had been dormant so long inside him. For three days he didn’t leave his Hotel room. 

On the fourth day Molly Hooper opened her front door to a Sherlock Holmes she didn’t recognise, a fully packed unfamiliar purple suit case and a plane ticket for Paris. Molly was just as shocked a second time when she came too half an hour later.

And so Sherlock changed his plans to incorporate Molly. Molly who had no idea she was keeping him sane and sober while she stumbled around in floaty sun dresses and took pictures of everything that tickled her fancy. They travelled to all the places Molly wanted to go but never had the money to; Rome, The Louvre in Paris, the Wall in China and cities that she had longed to visit, the tastes of South America, the Ruins of the Berlin wall, New York and its famous … everything and so many other places. They took the world by storm … covertly. But while they toured Sherlock worked without rest (mostly) to track down Moriarty’s Generals, Soldiers and Spies (a plan that largely dictated where Sherlock steered Molly on the map). Molly was never completely in the dark, but Sherlock was grateful for her silence and her patience.

And so the two wayward souls had continued on like sightly odd tourists for months- a whole year; seven months and a week in fact, slowly working up Moriarty’s spider web of the damned (as Molly liked to dramatise it). But that progression had come to a halt when the couple were confronted by the spider’s bloody right hand in Hawaii; The disgraced and sadistic ex Colonel Sebastian Moran. 

The two travellers were in Honolulu, it was night and they were sitting on a secluded part of the beach as the setting sun cast the sky a bloody red and the stereotypical torches were lit around the resort. Molly was ‘pooped’ form all the swimming and surfing (attempted surfing) that she had put herself through, so the two were resting until Molly was up to walking back to the hotel (Sherlock was reluctant to carry a sandy pathologist all that way).

Sherlock didn’t sense the three men until it was too late. They were on the couple before Molly could even get it into her mind to scream. One held Molly off to the side, with another holding a gun to Sherlock's head with the last one proceeding to beat the crap out of him. No matter how Molly struggled or bit at her captors leather covered hands she could not get free to help Sherlock, who was not fighting back. He did not want Molly to see him die a second time. Everything stilled when a fourth man stepped on to the beach.

Sebastian Moran was not what Molly was expecting. He was tall, dress casually in jeans and a flannel button up, with a handsome face, big hands, blue eyes and a shock of a pale blonde hair. When he spoke it was with an American accent and his words made Molly shiver. 

“I have been waiting for a chance to meet you Mr Holmes, but this is the first time you have been so un-alert,” The ex-army Sniper sneered, “I would not think that you were the kind of man to be distracted by such a lovely woman as Dr Hooper,” He glided across the sand to stand beside Molly, his large hands reaching out to stroke the young doctor’s pinked cheek, “I’m half tempted to confiscate such a tempting distraction…”

Molly whimpered and Sherlock growled and struggled against the men now holding him to the sand, threat of bullets be damned. The men around them chuckled at the detective’s struggles, but their hands still inched towards their weapons.

“Don’t worry Mr Holmes,” Moran drawled in a way that made Molly wonder if his accent was real or not, “I won’t be taking away our precious little Molly …Yet,” Molly struggled and held back tears as the snipers large hands slid into her hair almost fondly, “I have other more prominent business to attend to, much more important than the broken struggling of a dead detective.”

Moran leant in closer and ran his nose down the line of Molly’s neck, whispering words that made a single tear escape the young pathologist’s clenched eyes. Sherlock struggled harder, making his captors release him only to start beating him harder.

With one final chuckle Moran stepped back from Molly and closer to the still struggling detective. Molly could see that his left leg was broken and twisted and his cheek would need several stitches, not to mention all the ice he would need for his black eye and other bruises. 

Moran peered down at Sherlock with a smirk.

“I won’t be killing you today Mr Holmes, and if you back off of my men we will never see each other again.” With a nod the men slunk back into the darkness, leaving Molly to scramble past Moran to throw herself on to Sherlock, acting as some kind of shield.

Moran laughed. 

“Although if you keep our dear Molly around we might just see each other again, only briefly. Stealing is an art that I am most adept at.” He sneered in a perfect imitation of Sherlock.

Sherlock growled and pulled Molly closer with his least injured arm.

“I _**will**_ kill you” 

“Not if I kill your heart first.”

After Moran had slunk off into the darkness Sherlock slumped against Molly, his eyes burning and his hands running all over her as he muttered things that Molly panicked brain was to slow to pick up. After a few minutes the world started to dim for the detective and before he knew what was happening he was asleep against Molly’s chest with her soft arms wrapped firmly around him. Not even the helicopters, flashing lights and clunking armed men that signalled Mycroft’s arrival woke him from his slumber.

Nine hours later Sherlock woke up in a rather large hotel room that sat overlooking the rolling hills of highland Scotland. Apparently Mycroft wanted his little brother closer to help should it be needed. His whole body was hurt terribly but despite that his first coherent thoughts were; where is Molly? Make sure she isn’t physically hurt; find out what Moran said to make her cry. Kill Moran for hurting her.

Sherlock had woken up fully three second later and his senses picked up a small warm body to his left on the bed. The detective fell asleep once more with his pathologist wrapped in his arms, injuries be damned. Somewhere in the back of his mind Sherlock realised that his thoughts towards the protection of Molly were irrational and sentimental. But as he held the only link he had to the past he longed for in his arms, felt it live and breathe underneath his hands, Sherlock irrationally decided that Molly Hooper deserved to see the small part of him that was as human as everyone else.

…

And that’s where the pair of them had been ever since, for three weeks in lock down living in the penthouse suite of a hotel that the Holmes family had informally owned for centuries. Mycroft was keeping them in lock down until he was satisfied that Sherlock was healed enough to leave, while his men were all over the world attempting to keep eyes on Moran at all times, which was no easy feat. If Moriarty was a spider Moran was most defiantly a snake.

Molly was acting like a nurse once more, her nerves shot after the incident. Sherlock had been unable to get the words Moran had said to her out of Molly; she always went silent for hours after he asked, the first time and every other time he went to ask her inane chatter had always cut him off with a change of subject, or some kind of distraction to entertain his mind.

Today’s distraction came in the form of a pack of cards Molly had purchased form the corner shop. Sherlock may have been confined to the hotel room but Mycroft had no power to stop Molly form running around town for the both of them.

Molly had skipped into the penthouse with a Cheshire cat smile on her face and a shopping bag hanging form her elbow. Without a word Molly trotted up to where Sherlock sat at the Kitchen table and slapped a small card box onto the table in front of him. Sherlock inwardly smirked when he saw that the cards and box were decorated in cartoon characters. Molly Hooper you have not changed…

“Poker,” she giggled and so began the most memorable poker game of Sherlock’s life.

Sherlock had grown up playing card games, with his family, against his school mates for money and the high stakes ones he had played while high after university. Needless to say Sherlock had a perfect poker face.

Molly seemed pleased with herself, she had been franticly trying to keep his boredom at bay and now it would seem she found a method that she enjoyed as well.

She dealt out the cards grinning and he smile didn’t slip until she looked at her hand, very minutely but just enough for Sherlock to notice and inwardly smile like a wolf. Gotcha. A quick glance at his own cards told him that he was holding a Full house, a winnable hand, enough to beat the pants off the young pathologist across from him. 

“So Molly,” Sherlock drawled, shifting in the wheel chair Mycroft had ordered from a military electronics group in America, “You never said what we were betting…”

“I don’t really have anything to bet with Sherlock.”

Translation; my hand is weak and I don’t want to lose anything.

“Let’s make a deal then…” Sherlock drawled slowly, inspecting he reactions of suspicion and slight curiosity, “If I win you can – I don’t know … tell me what Moran whispered too you on the beach?”

Molly groaned and rolled her eyes, mumbling something about god striking her down.

“Sherlock, why do you need me to tell you? I’m sure you have already deduced –“

“I would like confirmation that my deductions are as accurate as I believe them to be.” I have no idea what Moran said to you, sentiment is clouding my mind and making me see a bloody red. 

Molly sighed and swallowed.

“Okay-I will consider telling you if you win.”

“Good, now-“

“But if I win,” Molly said leaning further over the table, giving Sherlock a good view of her more feminine attributes (Seduction isn’t going to help your losing hand Molly), “What will I get Sherlock?”

The detective frowned and licked his lips in a thoughtful manor.

“What do you desire Molly Hooper?”

The smile slipped from her face, being replaced by a mournful frown before her face became as neutral as Molly could muster.

Interesting.

A blush spread over her face and she looked down at her cards, not being able to repress the twinge she got from her obviously bad hand.

“If I win…” Molly whispered just loud enough for Sherlock to hear, “I want things to go back to France, but the country side this time. Y-you don’t have to come with me … I just want to sit somewhere quiet and beautiful. Maybe s-sketch or some-t-thing…”

Sherlock nodded his consent. Molly had truly gained a new place in his mind, a place of higher importance than she was aware of, he felt the same protectiveness towards her he had for Mrs Hudson and a respect that was on par with that he felt for John. And then there was the instincts she bought out in him, protectiveness being the main one, that earned Molly certain feelings all of her own. Feelings- loathsome things … but in this case I am not as immune as I wish myself to be.  
He made a note to make Molly’s request come true even after she lost, maybe not France though. There are too many overzealous men and women in France; too many of Adler’s spies as well. The Grecian country side may be more private.

“Deal.”

“Sh-Sherlock I-“ Molly stuttered with a gulp, “About Moran-“

“Later. We have a game to play.”

With a sigh Molly’s eyes went back to the cards and once again Sherlock saw her eyes wince at the sight of them.

While they sat a moment in silence Sherlock took a moment to take in Molly Hooper. She was dressed warmly in thick grey tights, a red pencil skirt and a black cardigan over a floaty –cherry adorned- blouse. Outside the morgue Molly was anything but frumpy, though Sherlock found himself missing the bright sun dresses she wore while they were touring the hotter parts of the world. Or maybe just the one dress – bright red and in the right light you could see through-

Sherlock grunted to clear his throat and placed his cards down in front of him, ready to accept his victory.

“Full house” The man smirked and leaned back in his wheel-chair.

Sherlock watched Molly’s face- waiting for the defeated emotions to fly through her eyes …

… They never came.

Instead Molly smirked right back at him and with implied grace showed off her own hand… home to the royal family, a ten and an ace of hearts. 

“I do believe my Royal Flush trumps your Full House, Mr Holmes,” She giggled as Sherlock sat there with his jaw near the floor.

“Bu-But, you behaved like you had a losing hand!” Sherlock announced.

“I have three older brothers and a grandmother with a slight gambling problem Sherlock,” the said rising from her chair in order to do a slight victory dance, “My poker face has been impenetrable since I was seven.”

Sherlock's mind was still. I must be out of practice … or did I assume since it was Molly I would win because of who I see her as … that's stupid I never assume. Must play again to study Molly and her poker face further, nothing is impenetrable to my mind. Maybe we could play again now-

Sherlock was pulled from his mind by Molly, kneeling down beside him with a dark look on her face. With shaking hands she held on to his and leant her head on his fore arm, closing her eyes tightly.  
“My mind was reeling with fear that night, but the words he whispered to me won’t ever leave my mind … they scare me more than guns or bullets ever will …” Molly admitted in a whisper.

Sherlock almost gasped. He was getting the confession he had been wanting for weeks … but all he could feel was a sickness in his belly and all he could see was a crumbled over Molly Hooper. Keep safe, His inner mammal growled from the basement of his mind palace, keep Molly safe-always.

“Molly…”

“When he spoke his lips brushed my ear and I thought I might throw up. Isn’t that stupid?” she continued as she clutched his hand tighter … he didn’t mind, “And when he spoke he put on an accent, Irish I think. ‘I can’t wait to have you writhing in my bed-‘” she let out a sob as she recounted the monster’s whisper “-‘ I might even let Holmes watch’ I-I-I”

Sherlock was frozen, a war waging within him. Half of him was screaming for blood and the other was panicking over Molly’s emotional display. He was about to open his mouth to peak when Molly sobbed out-

“Please don’t let them get me Sherlock.”

His mammalian instinct kicked in at that moment. He pulled his hands form Molly’s death grip and pulled the small sobbing pathologist into his lap, injuries be damned. Sherlock pushed her face closer to his chest and buried a hand in her hair as his other kept her close.

As the sun set outside and the dreary grey turned slowly pitch black Sherlock made a promise to one of the few woman that he had ever honestly cared for unselfishly, his deep baritone cutting through the silence of the dark apartment and stilling her unsounding sobs.

“No one will ever hurt you again Molly Hooper. I will kill anyone who tries”

As the two sat silently together, the wolf that stalked the basements of Sherlock's mind palace stilled in its pacing and lay down by the cracking reinforced tripled steel door, tail wagging slowly and closed its amber eyes.

_**Safe.** _

Xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Originally from my FF.net. You can find me on [Tumblr](http://oracle-of-absolute-hoopla.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Dedicated to [katdemon18](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1019385/katdemon1895), who sent me this prompt;
> 
> ‘One shot idea- Molly beating Sherlock at poker, possibly Lestrade, john and whoever else you want to add to the table, Anderson maybe, Sherlock has a brilliant poker face and of course he can detect if someone's bluffing or whatever but I really like the idea of him underestimating molly, as everyone seems to, and losing horribly to her.’
> 
> Obviously I went in a slightly different way but over all I think I was successful and I hope you like it my dears! 
> 
> Thank you for the idea katdemon18 my dear, I had so much fun making this! ;)


End file.
